"He is yours, old Karadeucq--you may dispose of him at your pleasure. Say the word and we will strike him down dead." "I wish him to be unbound; I wish him to have the full use of his limbs--but make a strong circle around us two, so that he can not run away." "Here we are--a strong circle of swords' points, axes, pikes and sharp scythes--he will not be able to break through." "A priest!" suddenly cried the count in accents of anguish. "I do not wish to die without the assistance of a priest! Will you assist me, hermit-laborer?" "Father," cried Loysik, "do not kill this man in that manner!" "I do not ask you for my life, Gallic dogs! Slaves! But I do not wish to go to hell! I ask the absolution of a priest!" "Take this axe, Count Neroweg; we shall be equally armed; the combat between us is to be to the death." "Father, in the name of your two sons, whom you have just saved, desist from this combat." "My sons, this axe does not weigh heavy in my hands--I shall extinguish in this Frank the stock of the Nerowegs." "I, a man of an illustrious family, do battle with a beggar, a Vagre, a revolted slave! No! I shall not bestow such an honor upon you, bastard dog--you may slay me." "Seize him, and shave his head smooth like a slave. Shame upon the coward!" "I, shaved like a vile slave! I, undergo such an outrage! I prefer to do battle with you, vile bandit; give me the axe!" "Here it is, count. And you, my brave Vagres, widen the circle--and long live Gaul!" Neroweg precipitated himself upon the Vagre; the combat was engaged; it was frightful, stubborn. Loysik, Ronan, little Odille and the bishopess followed trembling and with anxious eyes the events of the struggle. It did not last long. Karadeucq spoke truly. The axe did not weigh heavy in his vigorous hand; it swung in the air and fell with a crash upon the forehead of Neroweg, who rolled down upon the grass with his skull cleaved in twain. "Die!" cried Karadeucq with a triumphant air. "The stock of the Terrible Eagle will no longer pursue the stock of Joel!" "You lie, Gallic dog! My stock is not extinct. I have a son of my second wife at Soissons--and my present wife, Godegisele, is with child. My stock will live!" And with a feeble voice, the dying man added: "Hermit laborer, give me paradise--my good Bishop Cautin, have pity upon me! Oh, I am going to hell! to hell! the demons!" And Neroweg expired, his face contracted in diabolical terror. Missing the count, his leudes must have concluded that he lay buried under the smoldering ruins; some feared that the revolted slaves captured and took him with them. If they searched for him, they must have found the count's body at the outskirts of the forest, with his skull cleaved in twain by an axe blow, and stretched out at the foot of a tree, with the outward bark ripped off and on the bare trunk of which the following words were engraved with the point of a dagger: